


Uncommon Cold

by tisfan



Series: Forever Home [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Sick Character, Urban Fantasy, adopt a werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Even a werewolf feels a little under the weather...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Forever Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425667
Comments: 12
Kudos: 229





	Uncommon Cold

**Author's Note:**

> just a little snippet.
> 
> Also, I have no idea what happened with the sympathetic magician

Tony had taken for granted such things as grocer services and housekeeping services. After all, he had a ridiculous amount of money, and less time than he ever needed. Why spend time doing household chores when he could pay someone else to do it?

And then he’d gotten a werewolf boyfriend.

Which, admittedly, had advantages. But also meant that Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, suddenly came up on magical radars.

He hadn’t been too worried about that, until they’d had a run in with that sympathetic-magic fellow -- not a voodoo magician, no matter what Hollywood movies would have liked to call them. Dr. Strange had set them both straight on that -- who’d stolen a tuft of Bucky’s fur. Luckily for them, he wasn’t very good at what magic he had, and Dr. Strange had shown up to help them deal with it.

Ever since then, however, Tony didn’t let people into his private living quarters. No maid service to steal fur, no grocery service to wonder why they ate such a large number of steaks.

But it did mean that Tony had to do his own laundry.

To be fair, Bucky helped. Probably more than Tony did, really.

Just, not today.

Bucky was, in fact, in his wolf form, denned up behind the sofa. It wasn’t entirely normal behavior -- but then, what was _normal_ about having a werewolf boyfriend? -- but Bucky’d done it before. Wolf-instincts, he’d called them. When he was especially tired or stressed, Bucky’s wolf form got more… wolfy.

“Give me your shirt,” Tony told him. 

He knew Bucky had the shirt; he’d watched the great wolf drag a few pieces of clothing back there with him. Might as well get all the wash done while he was doing it, right?

Bucky didn’t exactly growl at him. But it was a near thing. His lip curled up and a flash of fang gleamed in the half-light. Bucky whined then, cowering close to the floor, burying his snout in his paws.

“Hey, hey there, what’s--” 

_Christ!_

Bucky never snarled at Tony. Had never, ever snarled at Tony, even when Tony still thought Bucky was some sort of very large guard dog with terrible taste in hot dogs.

And while Tony was one hundred percent _positive_ that Bucky would never hurt Tony-- well, it was hard to tell Tony’s monkey brain that when three hundred pounds of feral wolf was acting like it was lunch time.

He hadn’t thought Bucky was mad at him; true, Tony had stayed up really late (or very early depending on where you judged night ending and day beginning) for a few nights running. He just had an idea that wouldn’t quit, and it wasn’t like Tony needed a lot of sleep. 

Well, he probably did, because he’d been sleeping more, and longer, since Bucky had come to live with him, and everyone had noticed. Being well rested, who knew?

Beside the point, Bucky was obviously upset about something and retreating into his wolf-form and Tony hadn’t noticed. _Shit_.

“Hey,” Tony said again, sitting down cross-legged, because being afraid of Bucky always made Bucky upset, and Tony wasn’t afraid. “Hey there, come on out and let me see you.”

Bucky whined again, and then did that crab forward, belly scraping along the carpet until he was laying with his head in Tony’s lap. “There you go.” Tony absently scratched Bucky’s head and patted his ears.

Which were _warm_.

Like, not normal warm, because Bucky was a big damn wolf, but _too warm_. Uncomfortably warm.

“Honey?” Tony asked, gently, because Bucky was a werewolf, he wasn’t supposed to _get sick_. He could heal from anything that wasn’t a silver-caused wound. Tony ran his hand around Bucky’s huge head, until he was patting the muzzle, and touched Bucky’s nose. Dry. And also warm. “You feeling okay?”

Bucky tipped his head at Tony as if considering the question. He huffed and flopped back down onto the floor, burrowing his head against Tony’s belly.

Tony peered past Bucky at the nest he’d made behind the sofa. That wasn’t even Bucky’s shirt, it was one of Tony’s. And a blanket from their bed, and the one that usually sat on the end of the sofa. A jersey dress that Tony had last seen Bucky’s sister wearing. One of Pepper’s shoes -- oh, god, Pepper was going to kill them both -- and an ugly plaid dress shirt that Tony was probably going to guess belonged to Steve Rogers.

Bucky had been laying on all these items, his great huge snout burrowed in clothing that belonged to their family and friends. And now he had warm ears and a dry nose.

“That’s it, I’m calling Strange,” Tony declared. “I think you’re sick, honey.”

Bucky heaved another sigh and practically crawled into Tony’s lap, which might have been cute if he wasn’t three hundred pounds. “You don’t fit-- urf--” Tony ended up half-reclined with a very determined wolf laying over most of him. Phone. He could probably still get to his phone.

“Dr. Strange’s office, this is Christine, how can I help you?”

“This is Tony Stark,” Tony said. “Can I speak to the doc? I’ve got a problem with my dog.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Stark, let me transfer you.”

A conversation with Strange later, Tony had squirmed out from under his boyfriend, fetched the thermometer from the pet first aid kit that Strange had assembled for him several months ago, and Bucky was resigned to having his temperature taken. At least Bucky -- being intelligent -- could be trusted to stay still for a few minutes and have it measured in his ear, rather than the more usual way of checking a dog’s temperature.

Their sex life aside, Tony didn’t really want to stick anything _there_ without Bucky’s express, verbal consent.

“Well, it’s not too high,” Strange said. “If he doesn’t want to change back, get some cooling pads for his paws and ears. If he’s not feeling better by tomorrow, I’ll come by. Everyone gets a cold sometimes. Happens to the best of us.”

“Chicken soup?” Tony asked, since that was just about all he knew about colds; when he got one, he tended to go to bed and emerge a few days later, dehydrated and smelly. Probably not the best way to deal with it, but Tony wasn’t used to taking care of anyone, least of all himself.

“Yes,” Strange said. “And try to make him drink. He shouldn’t get dehydrated. I’ll call tomorrow. Or call right away if his fever goes over 105.”

“Got it,” Tony said, hanging up. “Looks like you and I are going to have a sick day.” Tony patted the sofa and Bucky dragged himself onto it. “You stay here, I’ll get us set up. What do you think? Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings?”


End file.
